


馬蒂尼雞尾酒

by malibu_island



Series: The 007 Files (TOP SECRET) [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, English, Minor Character Death, Multi, Set after Skyfall, The title in Mandarin but the work is in English, rated for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malibu_island/pseuds/malibu_island
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two missions after Skyfall, James Bond is assigned a relatively easy mission. Information on a terrorist leader's whereabouts has been leaked to MI6 and 007 is to detain him and bring him in to HQ for questioning. Will it really be that easy to capture a terrorist, or is Bond walking straight into a trap? (This work is set in English)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shaken, not killed.

Shanghai is known for it’s bright LED lights.

The lights were so bright, in fact that they threw multicoloured reflections off the top floor windows on a skyscraper. Behind the glass windows,  the elegant and modern bar was bathed in cool blue tones and crowded with guests.

James Bond watches them ordering drinks that could almost match the hue of the lights outside. He reaches for his own classic martini, taking a sip and enjoying the dry taste.

Sliding a wad of notes across the smooth black marble, Bond asks the bartender to make another Martini. But this time he asks for it to be sent down the bar; to the young man with perfectly styled dark brown hair.

His Quartermaster looks up from studying his drink and levels him with an irritated look, shaking his head.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Bond mutters as Q turns away his Martini.

A quiet sigh comes through the his earpiece before Q comments, “I find them to be too dry for my palate. Never did like olives much either.”

James turns to look at his Quartermaster and sees him watching the Shanghai lights, wearing an expression of painful boredom. It only serves to irritate the double 00 agent further.

“It’s a  _Martini_  ” Bond replies, shaking his head in slight exasperation.

Why on earth M thought he would need Q on this mission is truly beyond him. He's coped perfectly well on his other missions with Q in London, just a voice in his ear while he's being shot at.

“Are you even legal to be drinking?” Bond adds, knowing it’s a little childish, but then again Q looking like he’s at a funeral in one of the best bars in Shanghai is also _childish_.

James takes another sip of his Martini, before he hears Q huff at him in reply.

“ _Hilarious_ , 007. Truly. I’ll have you know I’m drinking straight tequila right this moment.”

“Are you sure your poor under-age liver can handle that?” James quips in reply, and makes the mistake of glancing down the bar at Q.

With his glasses gone and hair styled perfectly, Q’s appearance makes something in Bond’s chest twinge. Even as the Quartermaster fixes him with a look of annoyance and another expression, something foreign that he can’t quite put his finger on.

Bond looks away from Q's intense gaze first, noting that it's not just his usual irritated glare at the double 00 agent.

He catches his mark crossing the bar, deep in conversation with another man. They sit down in one of the few free seats left by the long, ceiling to floor windows and continue talking.

One of them, the dark haired one, frowns at the blonde man, and then his expression softens into something resembling pain. James looks away and downs the last of his drink, wishing Q had bugged the tables so he could hear the conversation.

“There’s your mark.” Q’s voice confirms, just as he rises from his seat at the bar.

“On my way. Have you disabled their radio’s so they can’t call their bodyguards when I detain him?”

“Why don’t you focus on your job and let me do mine?”

James chuckles under his breath at Q's snappish tone and heads to the terrorist leader’s table, slipping his hand into his tuxedo for his gun.

“On three, Q.”

“MI6 Backups are on their way.”

James takes a slight breath just before he reaches the table, standing before the two men.

“Mr Indigo?”

As the blonde haired man lifts his head up, Bond can't help but recall his file.

Mr Indigo; the cruel leader of a terrorist organization based in Germany. Known for being as unstable as the explosive compounds and weapons he creates, then sells to other terrorist groups. Every intelligence organization knows him, but as M once said, when she'd handed him the file years ago, "The man's like smoke. You can see him and you bloody well know he's there but you go to catch him and you'll be threading your fingers through empty air."

M had then gone on to inform him how Indigo had once been part of Q branch as an expert on explosive substances. She'd found out he was selling illegal compounds to terrorists and ordered him to be taken in while he was away in Germany.

However, the German intelligence had failed to heed her orders and had gone in to arrest Indigo without clearance. In the subsequent confusion, Indigo's wife and two year old daughter were accidentally killed and Indigo dissapeared; along with every photo and record of him.

He had literally, wiped his existence from the face of the planet. That was 20 years ago and it had only been 7 years ago since he started showing up on government radars. Bond wondered who sold him out, and why they were choosing to do it now.

Indigo meets Bond's steel blue eyes with his own narrowed, green ones and smiles sharply, “Ah, MI6. I had been warned you'd interrupt my little tea party." Bond is only marginally surprised to hear a refined English accent in place of a German one he'd expected; Fake passports were easier to get than water these days, after all.

He turns to the man on his right, still smiling and says, "Don’t worry Bernard, I’ll handle this little rat.” Indigo reaches into his jacket for his radio and presses the button, eyes fixed on the door to the right.

A beat or two passes and James keeps his eyes on the door. Indigo starts to lose his cool a little, pressing the button repeatedly until James slides the Walther PPK out of his jacket.

Fixing the man with a completely fraudulent friendly smile, Bond adresses him, voice lowered, “I think it’s best if we go quietly, don’t you agree, Mr Indigo?” and then he adds, “It would be a shame to embarrass you in your own bar in front of all these customers.”

Indigo glares at him, but sets the radio down onto the glass tabletop and stands up, straightening his jacket as he does.

“Of course- Bernard, keep the customers happy. Don’t want em blowing up in a temper on us, would we?” Indigo shoots him a leering smirk and lets Bond lead him outside the bar to the waiting MI6 officers.

As the terrorist is led down the corridor in handcuffs, he calls over his shoulder, to Bond "Do have a good night for me, James. I'm sure it'll be explosive!" Indigo's laughter is shortly cut off by the sound of the elevator doors closing.

James quickens his step, running back to the bar as his heart pounds with adrenaline, “Q? I think there’s a bomb in the building.”

There's a slight crackle and a quiet "Shit." on the other line before he hears Q activating his distress signal on his phone. Right now, Mallory will probably be screaming blue murder down the phone at the Chinese embassy for not giving the building proper security clearance.

“Oh, brilliant. I need to get roughly 200 people out of the top floor in a building and there’s only two escalators. I’m presuming this needs to be done within 10 minutes?” Q replies and as Bond's listening, he catches sight of Bernard on the phone.

The brunette holds Indigo's ineffective radio that Q cut off earlier, and waves it at him, smiling evilly before he disappears through a side door.

James freezes midstep as the door clunks shut and it hits him;

_They walked straight into a trap._

The heavy weight of horror in his stomach barely settles before he's barking instructions at the Quartermaster.

“Set the fire alarms off, Q. Anything you can do. And we’re getting out of here, now.” 007 runs toward’s Q, grabs him by the arm and hauls him out of the bar.

“007- What is going on? I can’t set the alarms off if you don’t let go of my arm-“

“This was a trap, Q. I knew it was too easy for us to catch a world class terrorist. That radio button he had wasn’t a distress signal- it was a detonator.”

Q pushes open the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time while he sends a message through to base to trip the fire alarms in the building. They’ve barely made it past two floors when the loud shrieking starts.

 

“HQ will have- your- head- if this is- a false alarm-” Q pants, tasting metal in his mouth as he barely manages to keep up with Bond's fast pace.

 

James doesn’t reply, taking the stairs two at a time, not daring to look up at the stairwell or back at Q.

They burst out of the fire exit on the ground floor, flying out onto the Shanghai sidewalk and gasping for air.

 

“007-” Q begins, slightly bent over as he tries to catch his breath, but before he can say another word, an explosion blows out a window in the hotel, sending glass raining down onto the street.

 

Civillians scream and run for cover as another three explosions go off in succession, creating deafening booms as the windows shatter.

More glass comes flying down and James quickly pulls Q out of the way underneath a resteraunt's metal awning.

The shards make a clinking noise as they hit the roof and Bond pulls Q as close as he can to his chest to shield the Quartermaster's face from any stray pieces of glass. As they kneel on the ground, breathing hard, James waits for another explosion. One moment passes into another and very slowly, Bond raises his head to anaylyse the damage.

A trickle of shards slip off the awning, hitting the ground; similar to the way a few drops of rain fall from a tree hours after a rainshower.

The entire street is covered in shattered glass; the pieces catch the lights and sparkle pink, blue and yellow. Q might think it looked aesthetic, if he didn't know the deadly intentions behind the act.

Civillians who were simply going about their business minutes earlier, meekly poke their heads out from their various shelters. They look terrified and confused as they take in the damage, Q feels the same way, his chest is constricted and it's hard to breathe. He wonders, idly if this is what a panic attack feels like, until he remembers Bond's anaconda like grip on him. 

Bond doesn’t even realize he’s still holding on to the Quartermaster with such force until Q gently squirms in his arms and says, “007, I’m quite alright.”

James drops his arms like he's been burnt and lets go of Q, standing up and putting some distance between himself and the Quartermaster.

Q and Bond both look up at the building, flames escaping from the five gaping holes where the windows used to be.

James catches a glimpse of Q’s shaken expression in the light of the flames and the blue and pink LED'S. He's about to ask if Q's sure he's alright, when the Quartermaster speaks up,  eyes not moving from the blown out windows when he says, “M is going to be furious.”

Bond doesn't know who M's going to be furious with yet, but he knows one thing; Q is bloody right.


	2. I'm coming home (trying to)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indigo may be in custody, but the hotel room windows that were blown out were not selected at random. Can Bond and Q get back to HQ safely? Or will they be targeted?

Early next morning, roughly four am, a high beeping alarm went off by Bond's ear. James rubs his face, groggily trying to remember what had happened. And why he's in a dingy hotel room rather than the 5 star he was sure he had last night.

And then he remembers. Explosions, Indigo.

_Shit._

Bond turns off the alarm with a little more force than neccessary, going to roll out of bed and hitting an obstacle.

A very _warm_ , sleeping obstacle.

"Q?" He asks, blinking and Q rolls over, looking at him with bleary eyes, still fully dressed underneath the covers.

"Bond?"

James opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. After all, Q is fully clothed, they're both completely out of it and he really does not want to spend 12 hours in a metal tube feeling awkward.

"We need to get to the airport."

Q nods weakly, stretching and sliding out of bed.

"I'll call Mallory, you get dressed and ready and I'll update you on what the plan is."

 

As Q goes into the bathroom, James walks over to his tuxedo jacket, draped over the threadbare sofa and fishes out his phone.

He dials for M and it goes through on the second ring.

"007? Where the hell have you been? After you updated me last night I haven't had any other contact-"

"I was taking care of Q, he was badly shaken. I think it's the first time he's seen something like-"

"Never mind!" Mallory shouts, and James winces. _Too many damn Martinis_.

"Well James, here's the situation. MI6 is in a _lot_ of trouble. Today was supposed to be a clean energy conference for six major countries in and out of the Eropean Union, held by the United Nations."

Bond presses his palms into his eyes, trying to understand. _What the hell did that have to do with anything_?

"Currently only one leader out of those 6 is alive."

"Oh _fuck_." is all James can get out, as his heart goes up in his throat.

"Last night there was a security breach in the hotel they were supposed to stay in. Their respective intelligence units decided to relocate them to the nearest hotel; yours. Somehow Indigo accessed their room numbers and planted the bombs."

"But did they not sweep check the rooms first?"

"That's the problem, the rooms were sweepchecked and then allocated security guards. These guards were supposed to report every half an hour to say everything was normal. When the bombs detonated, only 25 minutes had passed since their last report."

James murmurs another curse under his breath. _This was messy, very messy. And it was probably going to get even messier._

"Which brings me to you. Now you can understand, that the blame is pinned on us for not being able to detect any security threats when we had been in the building for 6 hours previous-"

"For _god's_ sake M! I was here to _arrest_ and _detain_ Indigo to make sure the slippery fucker stayed put! I wasn't expecting 5 assasination attempts!" Bond exploded, his breaths ragged as the other end of the line stayed quiet for a few, dreadful moments.

 "I'm aware of that, 007. That's why I spent all night _here_ , personally going through all of the mission files with each country to _reassure_ them that my spy hadn't failed to pick a blatant threat!" Mallory hissed back, voice dripping with venom, before he adds,

"And rest assured, if I _hadn't_ done that, you and Q would have been shot point blank in the face last night. So don't talk to anyone or try to get facts; I want you and Q on the _next_ plane back to London where I will debrief you both."

 The line clicks off, and James has to exert every last bit of effort in his body not to hurl the phone at the wall.

 _Like he could bloody predict Indigo had put packs of TNT in 5 world leader's bedrooms_.

 

Bond knows the whole situation's bullshit, but while he's stuck in Shanghai, there's not much he can do.

So, with shaking hands, he grabs his stuff and starts packing, throwing his shirts in the case with excessive force.

There's a creak behind him and he glances back as Q opens the bathroom door, towel wrapped around his waist. Fog billows out behind him and Bond can see a few rivulets of water running down his pale chest.

"Everything alright?" Q asks, reaching for his glasses and then his clothes. Bond drops his eyes to the suitcase in front of him while Q dresses.

"Five world leaders were assasinated last night. MI6 still don't know who or how they got the room numbers." Bond replies, still slamming his shirts in. 

"Shit." Q breathes, running a hand through his hair.

"Can you get me access to a laptop? I could run tests to trace the last person who accessed the system through an external-"

"No." James says flatly, closing his suitcase. "We've been given strict orders to go straight to the airport."

Q nods sharply, and starts his own packing.

“I’ll arrange the car.”

 

Q tugs at his cardigan sleeves as they queue for the airport check in desk. He's feeling tetchy and on edge, after all, flying merely a day after you've watched five explosions does not help someone who already has a fear of flying.

Bond, frowning at his passport, steals subtle glances at the quartermaster. He seems to be okay, but Bond knows Q’s acting skills are stellar.

Bond’s asked Q to lie to cover him many more times since Skyfall.

The only time Q said no was when James had blown up the car - _the aston martin_ \- Q had made.

Bond had talked him into it though. 

“When do you think this queue will go down?” Q asks, biting his lip and looking anxiously at the departure boards. James notices his slightly shaking hands and recalls Eve saying that Q didn’t like flying.

In fact, that was probably an _understatement_.

Q clearly loathes flying.

“Are you alright?” Bond asks, ignoring Q’s question and gets the  _look_  in return.

“I’m perfectly fine. Merely tired of waiting.”

Another quarter of an hour passes without many exchanged words between them and they finally get to the front desk.

Bond slides his passport, along with a smile to the check in assistant, tapping his fingers idly on the counter as she scans it.

“Sir? There seems to be a problem with my computer, please wait here just one moment while I fetch my manager.” She smiles, rises from her seat and starts a brisk walk towards a door down a long corridor.

To anyone else, the ruse would be perfectly believable, but James has been well trained enough to tell when a smile is just edging on fake.

The games of poker may have helped him too, somewhat, as he spotted a flash of fear in her eyes before she conjured up the lie.

He turns to the Quartermaster, as casually as he can with the knowledge they're minutes away from being detained, “Q?”

“I’m ringing MI6 now- hello, yes M? We’re having trouble at the airport. Will you check 007’s passport status?”

Bond casually takes back his passport, lying on the check in desk and glances back at Q just as he ends the call.

“He said-"

 

The door down the hall that their check in assistant had dissapeared through bursts open and five security guards come running out, brandishing guns and shouting.

James pushes Q towards the exit, running straight behind him.

Q hails a taxi and yanking the doors open for Bond.

“JAMES!” He screams, and Bond just manages to pull the doors shut as a barrage of bullets hit the windows, spraying the interior with glass.

Q and Bond duck down onto the floor, covering their heads as the taxi screeches away from the airport, a wail of sirens clear through the broken windows.

“Problems with the passport?” James shouts as he gets up and starts shooting through the broken windows at his pursuers’s tires.

“Something like that!” Q yells back, flipping out his phone and yelling orders down the line to Q branch.

Bond manages to get a tire, but as soon as he’s got the shot, one of the police is leaning out of the windows with a grenade in his hand.

“Speed up! They have a grenade!” Bond yells at the driver. Before he can grab the door handle for purchase, the car swerves and turns around to drive in reverse.

Their driver takes a single shot at the police car’s wheel and hits it. Before the police can react, the taxi’s spinning back around and speeding away.

Bond's only mildly surprised that Q didn't hail a regular taxi driver.

He checks that Q's alright, making sure the only thing wrong with the Quartermaster is the nausea from the car's spinning that resembled a funfair ride.

Satisfied Q's not injured, he looks up and through the screen partition; there’s only one person _he_ knows who could possibly have a shot that good.

Sure enough, he sees 002, smiling- no, _grinning_ at him from the driver’s seat, wearing bright shorts and a t-shirt.

“Problems with the visa, boys?”


	3. Goldeneye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond have problems with their VISA's, to put it mildly. Luckily, an old friend steps in to help.

All his life, Q has never really been fond of violence. Guns and explosions, they didn't really do it for him. He loved computers, relished in the long lines of code and marvelled at the sheer levels of destruction you could create all by pressing one little button.

When MI6 came along offering him a position at Q-Branch all those years ago, he'd jumped at the chance. Q had been a 19 year old boy, close to finishing his degree at Cambridge, and this job was a dream come true.

He finished his degree first, couldn't let his parents down. And oh, his parents had been so happy when he told them about his new job. He was to become the head of IT in a well respected firm based in London. It all complete bullshit of course, but MI6 had made his cover story more than believable.

At first Q was merely the tea boy, not trusted with the simplest line of code, let alone the complex intricate inventions handed to the double oh agents.

Six months after he'd started working for Q-Branch, his boss was having trouble hacking some code. It had taken the man four hours to complete one section and Q was entering his office with a cup of tea when he heard the man complaining.

"Bloody rubbish! How am I expected to work with this codswallop when- Ah, Geoffrey, thank you m'boy. Good old cup of tea, just what I need."

"Are you- hacking something sir?"

"Well, trying to! Hacking never was my speciality."

"M-may I, sir? I've dabbled in hacking." Q had pushed his glasses up his nose and forced himself to not pull at his cardigan sleeves while his boss shrugged at the computer screen.

"Well, I see no harm. It's merely a training program. Go ahead."

R- known as Q then, had pushed the laptop towards him.

He'd cracked the code in under ten minutes.

After that, he'd risen through the ranks pretty quickly, R preparing him to take on the role of Quartermaster.

It had been a clear, cold day in October. Q was on the MI6 roof, smoking and watching his breath turn misty in the bitter air as he exhaled. The creaking of the roof door as it opened surprised him and made him drop his cigarette by accident.

Q had turned around to see his boss walking towards him, pulling his hands out of the deep pockets in his tweed coat. R's wide smile was firmly fixed in place as he stopped next to Q on the rooftop, and offered him a cigarette to replace the one he'd dropped.

As Q had lighted up and inhaled, R started to talk.

"I'm leaving today. Packed all my stuff, written all my reports. You'll be the youngest Quartermaster MI6 has ever had." R gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"It's an honour sir, really. I wouldn't be where I am if you hadn't-"

His boss waved his hand, dismissing him and shook his head, "No no, Geoffrey. You are a very smart man, I would wager one of the smartest employees in MI6. You could probably best _my_ predecessor, you'd just have to do one thing."

"And what's that sir?"

"Do stay away from the double oh agents." R's expression had turned pained as he took in the skyline laid out in front of them. In the distance, the red, orange and brown of the dying leaves flecked slight warmth into the urban scene. Q kept his eyes firmly fixed on the distant trees, ablaze with color, but still couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped his lips.

Double oh agents were _notorious_ in Q-Branch for their failure to bring back equiptment and their disregard for _any_ security protocols. R very often insisted to his Q-Branch staff that they were the cause for most of his grey hair.

"I'll do my best, Sir."

"I mean it. _Especially_ 007\. You could give that man a nuclear proof gun and he'd still manage to drop it in a fusion reaction chamber."

Q takes a last drag of his cigarette and looks away from London and at his boss, supressing another laugh.

"I'd have a job sir. I haven't met any of them yet."

"Good. You want to keep it that way."

 

Q wondered at what point he'd failed to listen to his predecessor's advice. He berated himself for it though, because now he was stuck in the bag of a dingy taxi that had all the windows blown out, with two double oh agents arguing in the front.

It was all honestly rather daunting.

"So you were in the area, then?"

"Actually, I was on holiday, _James_." 002 snaps back, just as the taxi hits a pothole in the road and nearly sends Q flying off his seat.

At least 002 is being polite to him, because she looks into the back of the taxi and yells, "Sorry Q!"

"It's fine, really." Q murmurs, feeling nauseous as he climbs back onto the battered leather.

"I was referring to the idiot you got paired with for this mission." 002 calls over her shoulder, giving Bond a beaming smile in exchange for his glare.

"Why did M even contact you?" James asks, only a little bitter as he slides down further into his passenger seat.

002 shrugs, "The embassy were throwing their toys out of the window. _Witnesses must not leave the scene of a crime until a statement is taken_ , all that malarky. Thought they might pull some stunt at the airport, so he asked me to leave my _nice_ , little hotel and drive all the way out here to come and pick you up like a bloody school run."

Bond stops glaring and gives her a quick grateful nod, "It's appreciated, 002."

002 glances at him, and Q doesn't miss the little flash of emotion in her eyes before she looks back at the road.

"Just don't want you getting killed. HQ seem to think you're worth something." She says offhandedly.

James snorts and the tense moment is abrubtly gone.

 

It falls quiet after that, 002 is a good driver, despite the pothole earlier and Q feels himself getting sleepy.

Before long, he lets his eyes close and he slumps against the car interior.

002 glances back at him in the rear mirror as Q snores, eyes flicking over to James.

"I know you like to seduce people to get ahead, but this is taking it too far."

"Shut up." 

"No, seriously. That boy's in love with you."

Bond sighs, running his hand through his hair, "Okay, one, I'm not seducing him. Mallory asked him to come with me. And two, he is most certainly not in love with me!"

002 snorts, rolling her eyes.

"Sure, sure, of course not. So were you blinded on your last mission? Or is Q taking hallucinogens and thinks you're the next generation laptop? Which one is it?"

"Will you drop it?" James asks, bringing his arm down onto the siderest with force. Q jolts and mutters a bit in his sleep, but doesn't wake up.

"No, I will not drop it." She hisses in reply, continuing, "Every single person who gets close to you ends up six feet under. It's a track record."

"Goldie, I _am_ sorry about M. Her death hurt me too." Bond whispers, noting her ever so slight flinch and the way her knuckles get whiter around the steering wheel.

"She cared about you, you know that? She considered you her son."

James shakes his head, disbelieving that M, the woman who told Eve to 'Take the bloody shot' could possibly care about him in a maternal light.

That is, before 002 smacks the steering wheel in frustration, glaring at him.

" _I mean it_ , James. How many people do you think my mother would have stuck her neck out for?" She whispers venomously and Bond feels his stomach clench with guilt.

"I'm not saying you should leave your job and give Q a ring-" She sighs, reaching for a radio in her compartment as 007 remains silent.

"-I'm just saying you should _seriously_ consider whether it's a good idea to let your Quartermaster get attached to you when it could get you both killed."

Bond doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to believe 002's words, because he likes Q.

"I don't like him like that."

"Whatever helps you sleep better at night, 007." 002 replies.

 

More time passes as the taxi cruises along the road. The silence is choking and James nearly speaks, about to try speaking again when the taxi drives off the road with a sudden bump.

As they turn onto a dirt track that runs through a thick forest, James racks his mind for reasons why 002 is taking them down here.

The backroad is barely visible in the weak moonlight, although he suspects that it would be difficult to locate it even in the daytime- unless you had a good enough memory.

Bond is glad to have an excuse to change the subject, and he seizes the opportunity with both hands.

"Why are we going down here?"

"There's a helicopter waiting for you at the end of this lane, I can only drive you halfway and you'll have to walk the rest. Don't give me that look, MI6 has the entire forest bugged. You're perfectly safe."

James shakes Q a little to wake him up. He jolts awake, looking around in a sleep induced haze.

"We have to walk to our helicopter, come on Q, out."

 

With a little persusasion, Q gets out and starts to walk down the lane. Bond is about to follow when he feels something grip his wrist.

002 is looking up at him with sad, tired eyes.

"Just think on what I said, okay? Take care."

Bond shakes her hand, nodding and follows Q into the woods.

James doubts he'll do much with his free time after this mission _but_ think on what 002 said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who are wondering, Q's predecessor that I refer to in this chapter, is Cleese. I figure there would have been a few years gap between him leaving and being replaced by Whishaw's character.


End file.
